Thinking Things Out

 No wonder Fiorella grew up to be a linguist. Her next door neighbor was Louisiana French, The family down the block spoke Yiddish, her mother knew a smattering of German, and her father's family had remembered a word or two of Carpathian Rucyn.

Your girl likes action, be it writing, art, singing, composing, solving puzzles, or whatever, and it drives her crazy that what she is doing now what she has to do instead of what she wants to do. Yeah, she's working her heart out setting up the studio. Will she ever get it finished? And is she does get  it finished, will she still be able to express herself in her four talents? She hasn't touch a piano in at least a year, and she barely ran the keyboard then. And what about her languages, which she hasn't practiced in forever? And then there's her writing and her art. When will she get back to them? 

Right now, Fio is fishing out various charming photos of her kids and mailing them off to her threesome so they can remember whom they once were.  (Sometimes Fiorella needs to remind herself whom she was too.)

It was interesting going through all the of Mother's scholastic awards. She skipped fourth grade, and not only did she win the county spelling bee, but she also had the lead role in her high school play. Dad, on the other hand, was a sports star and senior year class president. How's that for genes!

 

 

 

 

 

What Happend to You Yesterday, Fio?

 Fiorella likes to present a happy, confident front, but sometimes the world piles up on her, like it did for the past year, and she has to take a break and refuel. But the sun is shining today and your girl's on semi-firm ground--at least for now.

Fio's studio is shaping up with only about a week of work to go, at least for the bookcases, but then there's the file cabinets, which will take longer because they contain most of Fiorella's poetry and stories from way back.

The great news is that your girl will be getting medical treatment at the house instead of Son L having to drive her into the facility, which means that Fiorella won't have to be responsible for her long list of medical personal herself. It also means Son won't have to take off work.

It's interesting to go through Mother's remembrances. Apparently, she was the top speller for everywhere around, which explains why Fiorella was born with a yen for writing. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 Fiorella took a day off 💗

More Sonnets

 Your girl came across a couple more  of her sonnets she thought you might like.  

                           

 Lullaby

I've held death in my arms to confort her

And stroked her cheek and combed her tangled hair

And sung to her sweet songs that once were dear,

Old medodies, a children's bedtime prayer

I've held death in my arms and learned her face

And studied how her shallow breath grew slow,

And warmed her limp, cold hands in my embrace

"It's hard, so hard," she said. "I didn't know."

I've stood beside her peace and counted flowers

And listened to my sleepless brain shriek blood

And wept, regretting wasted lives and hours

Inimically intertwined with love

   I've held death in my arms in fear and wonder

   And kissed her, kissed her as one would a mother

  

Love Endures

How long lasts love? Past tomorrow's dawn?

Past hurt and anger, betrayal, desertion, death?

This weakness of the heart--will it be strong

Enough to last the years, yet be true yet?

Life ripens in the lusty sun of youth

And is consumed, but blossoms ever-sweet

To be the springtime baby's first-spooned fruit,

The sustenance of summer, winter's treat.

The music of the song survives the singer

And echoes of itself divinity--

Thus Love and Beauty, Truth and Courage linger

Long past their actors in eternity

     How long lasts love? My love is yours

     As long as Love endures; yes, love endures

Keeping You up to Date

Damn! Fio has messed up her doctor appointments, which, at her age, are a lot more frequent than they used to be. And it doesn't help that, ever since she got caught in THE snowstorm, her sense of security has shuffled off to Buffalo.

So, Fiorella had the itch ever since way back when. Going back through some old papers, she discovered plans she'd made for a redo of the family home when she was a teenager. Needless to say, Mom decided to let the place stay as it was.

Does anyone out there know how to get some sort of gadget that affixes to the TV to play soft music when Fio is trying to get some sleep? If not, will you invent one?

Did your faithful correspondent tell you that she almost lost her cardcase, the one that is loaded with all sorts of important identity information? Luckily, it showed up the next day at Walgreen's, where she had shopped the night before, but Fio's heart is still beating way too fast.

Fiorella the Great has decided that she will leap into action tomorrow by calling all her doctors and setting up appointments with them, which should take at least half the day. She will also go through her bedroom, which is loaded with notes and throw-aways, then work on her studio. (By the way, did your girl ever tell you that she has two copies of Peterson's Magazine, a ladies' book, one from 1883 and the other from 1859? Any takers?)

 

 

 

 

 

 

Some of My Earlier Work

 

I know that God is Spanish

And here's the  reason why--

With sun warmth just just departed

And night cool drawing nigh,

He drapes a black mantilla

Of lace o'er the waiting sky

 

The waves rise high and high for me

The winds rise higher still

And ignoring fast my mother's plea,

I stand upon my sand-dune hill 

And watch the storm at sea 

Hello, down there

I'm up in my swing

Don't tell me of your physics

And I'll teach you to sing 

 

That's It For Today

 Your girl, who's always written her life down on yellow tablets or whatever lay nearby, is plowing through things she'd totally forgotten about, and some of them are hard to swallow--like a bad situation between her and one of her older son's pre-kindergarten teachers. But all in all, Fiorella survived--and prospered--with the help and comfort of friends and family.

Another thing Fio had forgotten about was that her father-in-law had collected books by Texas authors like J. Frank Dobie. Hmm...wonder what Fiorella can get for them? 

Darn--Sonia's vet took a vacation without notifying the dog food people where to deliver Doggy's special food. Looks like her majesty will have to make do with a more plebeian brand for a while.

 

 

 

 

 

 

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